


truces

by millimallow



Series: the world of owa [24]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Fantasy drugs, Gen, Political Thriller, violence and depictions of casual drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millimallow/pseuds/millimallow
Summary: those who can talk are not always meant for it.





	truces

when they wake us up at night, i’m never quite sure what’s happening. i remember my last position- slumped over one of the cargo crates, only half awake and sucking on one of the psychoactive twigs me and the rest of the soldiers collected from the nearby bushes. start hoping that i’m not in jeopardy for falling asleep on the job, because those sorts of pleasures have violent ends over here.

but it’s not that. not this time, anyway. someone else fell asleep on the job- in a metaphorical sense, though. all i can really feel in the moment is the metal-lined and leather padded gloves on my shoulder, numbed by the remnants of my previous high. but my hearing is different. we never expect to get told much, but security gets lax within a highly-armed circlejerk so within ten minutes of being marched to the main compound i hear the telltale words. something about edenska, and something about a diplomat. so much for a successful international relations strategy.

the man himself is exactly what i expect from a diplomat. we’re brought into the room, me and this fellow soldier, and i blink though the darkness to see him. bound by rope to one of the leaking pipes affixed to the wall, blindfolded like a carnival doll for children to fire darts at. he has the pudge you can only gain from being a government official in a war-torn state, older than most people even have the chance to get around here. some dark and scraggly facial hair is hanging off his chin and for a moment he reminds me of my uncle- a clerk at the government office and the rich man of our family. and in the moment i’m afraid to see his eyes. the eyes always remind you of the person, but this time? a further look of similarity might be too much. which is unfortunate, as this isn’t the type of job you can quit.

suddenly, there’s a weight in my hands. it’s still much too dark in there to make it out with my eyes, but by passing my fingers along the construction of the device i’ve been handed i get the idea of things. that this is the kind of rough-and-ready rifle that they’ve refused to issue us while on guard. citing that we’re supposed to alert the camp before fighting back, which essentially translates into cost-saving measures and the reassurance that we’re totally expendable. right now, it’s telling me that we’re meant for business. as does the light turning on suddenly, and the presence of a tall and masked man in the corner by the door.

“extract information if it’s possible. afterwards, we don’t care what you do, but make sure to get rid of him. and don’t remove the blindfold. execution will follow summarily if the blindfold is removed for both you and our captive.”

 _well_ , i think. _they’re not being particularly transparent about who this is, even when they’ve already made it so obvious_. and in the moment when i’m thinking, the door opens and shuts. which i don’t notice, but once i do, it feels odd. we’re usually monitored during these sorts of things. but it’s late, later than usual. higher-ups in the chain of command are often spoiled when it comes to things like regular sleep schedules. for us three, there’s no chance of a restful night.

once the masked figure is out of the room, my fellow guard removes their mask. i can recognize their face now- one of the other students in my class- halfling and elf at the same time, significantly shorter than me but with a powerful look of authority bestowed upon her. i curse myself internally for being nearly 6’ and still remarkably inept at conveying any sort of power. it’s probably the drugs. as a gesture of trust, i remove my mask too, blinking to try and hide the way my eyes vacillate in and out like a cat’s pupils. i nod to her and she nods back- in her hands is the same weapon i’ve been equipped with. which seems to me like overkill, considering we’re dealing with a pampered government official tied to a fucking drainpipe. and that if they send the army after us no weapon on owa could protect us from execution at their hands.

“you know what’s going to happen, right?” it’s my fellow soldier speaking. she’s addressing it to this poor schmuck, but it could equally be a dig at me, equally unprepared for my first dance at the ball. still bound, he nods, and she nods at me. what’s with all the nodding? either way, i do what i vaguely remember from my training, and hold the barrel of the rifle to his forehead. the promise of death. he grunts when the cold metal comes in contact with his forehead and his facial muscles twitch like he’s opening his eyes, albeit to see nothing.

“is that a gun?”

i turn to my compatriot, looking for an answer in her face to whether i should answer. and whether i should do it sincerely. her expression is mostly cooperative.

“yes. rifle, actually. we don’t have takka itaakun money.” he’s almost laughing now.

“neither do we. so when my boys come to fetch me, you’ll have a little while before they catch you.” me and her share a knowing look.

“they’re going to come and rescue you?”

another grin. “they’re running out of people with a university education. who are, you know, willing to get themselves killed.” and this time i’m laughing, even with my compatriot maintaining a formal silence.

“damn, you got the university education? i’m just sick of this shit.” not entirely a truth, but not far off. particularly the university education.

“yeah. so when they come for us, if i’m still alive… i’ll negotiate you two into a position of privilege back at home. my home. with the condition of information, of course.”

with the sudden creeping feeling of a thousand eyes on my back through the narrow window behind me, i move to shake his hand as my compatriot lifts hers in a gesture of immediate surrender.

and i thank myrzas that there’s no security cameras in here. i thank her for the infinite excitement and potential of life. i thank her for the blessing of luck. my own hand goes up in the air, one reserved for freeing the diplomat from his bondage until i can hold it up too. he places his arm around me as a gesture of protection.

truces come in many different forms.


End file.
